


Sore Must Be the Storm

by misschristmas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wings, spoilers for 10.18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:16:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misschristmas/pseuds/misschristmas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tends to Castiel's broken wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sore Must Be the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Had to write it. Just had to. Book of the Damned broke me, so here it is. Commiserate with me, SPN family. 
> 
> Spoilers for 10.18!
> 
> Title from the poem Hope is a Thing with Feathers x Emily Dickinson.
> 
> Love you, love feedback. Keep calm, and write fanfiction. Cheers.

 

_...and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm._  

After the pizza and the beer.

After "Cas, pick a color. Just trust me." and "Okay, now pick a number." and "Oh my god, I knew you'd get that one!" and laughing harder than he has in years.

After he shows Charlie to a spare room in the bunker and kisses her goodnight on the forehead.

After the light goes out from underneath the door to Sam's room.

After the first dinner with his complete family is over and everyone else is asleep, he finds Castiel hunched over in a chair in the library taking deep breaths, his eyes shut tightly.

"Show them to me."

The angel looks up and shakes his head almost imperceptibly. _It would kill you, Dean._

"I saw what Gadreel's looked like after the fall. Don't try to tell me you're not in the same shape, or worse. Show them to me, Cas."

"No," the angel rasps out through gritted teeth. _It will break you. It's too much._

Dean crosses the room to kneel in front of Castiel. He places his hands on the angel's shoulders, and Cas feels the weight of unspoken words in the gesture. Dean's gaze is calm and steady, sobering, like he's forgotten the Mark. Castiel stares back into resolute green eyes. _Stronger than he ever imagined he could be._

The angel unfurls his wings.

Dean stands to examine the withering plumage, the arches of flesh that are crusted over with dried blood. Feathers fall away when he reaches out a hand to inspect the appendage, and Dean abruptly pulls back when Castiel winces. He turns without a word and disappears around the corner. Castiel puts his head in his hands, impossibly exhausted.

The human returns a few minutes later carrying a bowl of warm water and a few washcloths. He offers no warning before he begins to tend to the wounds. Sam never flinches when Dean goes at him with a needle and stitching silk, and Dean has forgotten that there might be any other way. Cas understands this and sits in silence, his clenched jaw a quiet signal of pain that Dean notices but does not acknowledge. His hunter's hands are gentle as they clean the charred skin surrounding dead follicles, black feathers falling like ashes to the floor despite his tender touch. This is a mess he cannot clean. This... he cannot make it right.

Dean hides his face in the shadows before he lets the tears fall.

The angel feels him break and hangs his head.


End file.
